The Proposal
by XxMildredxX
Summary: Sherlock proposes to John. The evening entails of a triple murder, Lestrade can't keep a secret, fondue fights at Angelo's and a punch up on Waterloo Bridge. Nothing can ever be simple for our boys, can it? Humour/Fluff. Part 2: now with Mummy's reaction!
1. Chapter 1

**Just uploading some of my old stuff- I'm not writing anything new. **

**This is ridiculous. I can't believe you're reading it. It's so stupid, and UNBELIEVABLY ooc, but you know what? If I were a half decent writer I would be writing a serious story, not some drivel like this.**

**Anyway! With that note, enjoy!**

**NB: headcanon- Sherlock is allergic to tomatoes. Just so you know.**

People always asked John how he proposed.

The truth is that _I _proposed to _John. _John, even now in his old age, still likes to regale the family with how I did it. And everybody laughs, making some remark about "How did you manage to get him to settle down?" or something equally snide, even if I had it coming- I'm not known for being the most romantic person in the world.

All I remember was sweating like a pig the whole evening, and being so nervous and excited that my damned lisp came out to play for a while.

"Our rethervation ith at thix, John," I had spewed hastily, pacing along the hallway, waiting for John to come out of the bedroom. I was literally shaking- my knees were knocking, my bones felt like jelly, and my head was spinning. With all this anticipation, the thing I had managed to repress since I was seven decided that _now _was the best time to re-emerge.

The bedroom door flung open, and I was faced with a very amused looking John.

"_What _was _that?" _John giggled.

"Nothing," I muttered, before properly looking John up and down. He was wearing a new suit that I had bought him for Christmas. I loved his jumpers, but I would never regret getting him out of them with this view. John looked very handsome in a tailored suit. And he had done something to his hair. I licked my lips nervously.

"No, I definitely heard something there!" he grinned. "Or should I say, I heard _thomething _there!"

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, and tried to ignore John's chuckling as he finished tying his tie.

"Yes, John, occasionally I have a lisp. Only when I'm inebriated or not paying attention," I said curtly. Try saying _lisp _when you actually _have a lisp!_

"I'll have to try my best to get you extra drunk tonight, then, won't I?" he murmured, pecking my lips, before passing me down the stairs.

I swayed slightly, before following him down to the living room, where I got a fine view of John Watson's arse bent over, as he was tying his shoelaces.

"So, remind me again why we're going out?" he asked lightly as I held open the front door for him.

I swallowed thickly. "I was owed a favour. Might as well make use of it."

John gave me a warm smile, and slipped his hand into mine as we walked to the main road to catch a cab. It was a very clear, but rather cool night, and a few of the brighter stars could be seen through the thick London pollution in the quickly darkening sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" John muttered, looking up also. I knew he was quoting me from that case a long long time ago.

"Meh," I said disdainfully. "It's alright, I suppose."

"But I thought you said you app-"

"I've been unleashed to far more beautiful things since then. This is only minor compared to what I've seen from the time when my eyes were almost blind to true beauty."

John gaped at me as we walked. "I didn't understand a word of that."

I rolled my eyes, and lifted our entwined knuckles to kiss his fingers.

I hailed a cab, and again held the door open for John to get in first. He gave me a quizzical look but didn't say anything. I felt my stomach churn, and the butterflies living in there got upset, so they decided to have a bit of a scuttle around too. Feeling the shivers driven by adrenalin set in, I shakily slid in beside John.

"Great Smith Street, please," I asked the driver, trying not to appear nervous. He nodded, and we sped away.

I glanced at John, who was smirking at me.

"I know where we're going," he said slyly.

"No you don't," I said. Unless John had an extensive knowledge of Indian restaurants in London, I had hoped that I would be able to surprise him.

"Yes I do," he teased. "I can _deduce _that you are taking me to the restaurant you saw me eyeing up on the internet the other day, and have managed to get a booking _somehow, _despite it being fully booked for a month, by helping the head chef in a family dispute, because I saw him leaving the flat when I returned home from work last week."

Oh.

Well that had me stumped.

"How do you know he was the head chef?" I challenged. "He could just be one of many Asian men that live in London."

John grinned and took hold of my hand.

"He was wealthy. He had a new Rolex on. Plugs as well, for his hairline. Well established job. The fact that he smelt like a curry house meant that he's often in close proximity to a kitchen that serves Asian food, most likely Indian or Bangladeshi because of the heavy use of turmeric and cardamom I could smell. He also had his own Lexus parked outside. Pale skin around where his wedding ring should have been meant marital problems, which is why he was visiting you. Probably some scandal that needed sorting, I don't know. So, he's a high ranking chef, in a very posh Indian restaurant, that owes you a monumental favour for saving his marriage, because if he had to get a divorce, his wife would probably snatch everything. Including his Lexus, which he loves very much, judging by the amount of wax that was on it," John finished with an afterthought.

I was suppressing my smile.

"Could be any fancy Indian restaurant," I tried.

"In Great Smith Street? I don't think so. Also because I've been thinking about going there for Harry's fortieth, to plan a party for her- I know where it is. You noticed that I wanted to go, didn't you? And you went to find if you could go earn a favour from somebody who works there."

I sighed. "You got me John. Is this what it feels to be deduced? Because I'm not too sure I like it."

John chuckled. "You get used to it. And by the way, that's the most romantic thing anybody's ever done for me."

"The pleasure is mine," I told him, and he leant over to kiss me briefly. "Also, those were pretty impressive deductions there."

"I did learn from the best," he muttered, and I felt a hot flush creep up on me as he fingered my jacket lapel.

"John!" I warned as he started kissing my jaw, and I glanced anxiously at the cab driver. "John, stop!"

He didn't stop. "I don't think you quite stand by the courage of your convictions," he muttered, catching my lips again in his.

"I stand by my convictions with just the right amount of courage!" I hissed back, trying not to reciprocate as he pushed his hands behind my jacket to pull me towards him.

"Mm," he dismissed, kissing at my ear.

"John!" I tried again. "John, you can't- not here- I mean, John, please!"

"Wouldn't want you to get all hot and bothered, now would we?" John smirked, as I felt the hot flush increasing to a full blown tomatoey blush.

I only managed a small squeak as John undid one of my shirt buttons and started kissing my neck.

"Exhibitionist!" I tried to sound irritated, but even to my own ears I just sounded aroused.

"Ha ha, you have no idea," John chuckled. I could tell he was strategically placing a lovebite on me where everyone would be able to see it. Wonderful.

His hands made their way to my hair, and he ran his fingers through it, making me shiver.

"Much better," he muttered, drawing back. I was feeling rather lightheaded and woozy. "Your perfectly parted hair and buttoned up shirt were annoying me."

I rolled my eyes, and thought about murdering puppies with butter knives to calm down a little. I caught a glance of my reflection in the window as we went through a tunnel, and John was right- I looked a little dishevelled.

"John, this mark isn't going to be easy to cover up!" I complained, gingerly touching the slowly formulating bruise on my collar bone.

"Exactly," he said smugly. "Can't have Detective Inspector Dimmock staring at your arse any more, now can we?"

"What?" I spluttered.

"Oh, come on Sherlock! You'd have to be blind not to notice!" John grinned, and I knew he was teasing. "Now he knows to back off."

"Oh I see," I said sarcastically, "marking your territory. I understand."

"Oh yes," John grinned, pulling my forward by my shirt to press a final kiss to my lips.

We continued the rest of the journey in comfortable silence, our fingers entwined. The butterflies were returning with full force, and I was starting to feel a little nauseous.

"Uh, boys, the street has been blocked off," the cabbie told us tentatively as we reached the destination.

"What?" I asked sharply. "Blocked off? How?"

I looked out of the windscreen, and indeed, the whole street had been enclosed by tape which read "CRIME SCENE". There was an entire fleet of police cars parked outside of our restaurant.

"Oh, for the love of-" I refrained from swearing, as I strained to see what the commotion was. I recognised the silvery head of Lestrade barking orders to police near the entrance of the restaurant.

"Come on," John muttered, having spotted Lestrade," Let's go see what's going on."

I was about to protest- this was our evening out, we were supposed to spend it having a nice meal together, not chasing criminals- when John threw a £20 note at the cabbie, and got out the cab.

I hastily followed him, and we both ducked under the tape.

Lestrade was exasperatedly rubbing his head, and typing a text message, when he turned round to spot us.

"What the hell?" he cried out. "I swear to god, Sherlock! I haven't even hit the send button and you've arrived already!"

He held up his phone, and sure enough it read:

_To: Sherlock Holmes_

_Need you in Great Smith Street. Restaurant murder. Come quickly._

_GL_

"No, Lestrade. John and I were expecting to dine here tonight," I told him.

Lestrade stopped short, and looked us up and down. "Yeah, I was going to say- a bit dressed up for a triple murder, aren't we?"

John blushed slightly, but I ignored this statement.

"We can't help you, I'm afraid. What happened, anyway?" I asked.

"It opens at five thirty. The head chef walked into his kitchen, and found three of his underlings hanging from meat hooks, very much dead," Lestrade said gravely.

I looked at my watch. It was just about six o'clock. That meant the police had probably been here for about twenty minutes.

"I'd appreciate your help, if you wouldn't mind?" Lestrade asked hopefully, holding out a pair of latex gloves. I was about to take them instinctively, when I spotted John's face. A triple murder meant a night of staying up, looking at clues. He looked disappointed, but resigned.

"No, Lestrade," I repeated. "Not tonight."

Lestrade looked confused. I had never refused him before. "Oh, uh, okay."

It was then that I spotted Mr Singh, the restaurant's head chef, in a corner, with an orange blanket, talking rapidly to a sergeant.

I immediately went over to him, ignoring the disgruntled noises of the other policemen as they spotted me.

"Mr Holmes!" Mr Singh cried. "I'm so sorry! Tonight was your special night, and now it is ruined! Michelle, and Omar, and Karen! All dead! Mr Holmes, sir! I swear I had no idea! I was looking forward to preparing dinner for you and your fian-"

I hastily quietened him, so that John wouldn't hear.

"Mr Singh, I assure you, everything is fine," I gave my best reassuring face. "I was merely hoping to ensure you were well."

Mr Singh gave me a watery smile. "I will be."

"Excellent. You are in the hands of fine detectives," I said, turning back to John.

"Speaking of fine detectives," John muttered, "Look who it is. Dimmock McStare-a-lot."

I snorted as we watched Dimmock go over to Lestrade and shrug. We approached them.

"Is this the whole of Scotland Yard you have out here, Lestrade?" I asked. I could see everyone- Sally, and Anderson, and all the regulars in Lestrade's team, and all those that were in Dimmock's.

"It was a quiet night, and we're only round the corner," Lestrade said wearily, rubbing his temples again.

Dimmock was gaping at my neck area, and I knew he had spotted John's mark.

"Oi!" John barked, and Dimmock jumped.

"Well, let me know tomorrow if you can't solve it. Triple murder is always fun," I told them, taking John's hand before he ploughed it through Dimmock's face.

"Only you would call triple murder _fun, _Freak," I heard the dulcet tones of Sally Donovan behind me.

"Ah, Sally, how nice of you to join us!" I cried. "I was just saying here how you will undoubtedly need my help with this case tomorrow!"

She glared at me. "Why tomorrow? Why aren't you in there poking the bodies now?"

"Because John and I are going out to dinner. We were supposed to eat here at six," I told her primly.

She glanced at our intertwined hands, and raised an eyebrow. "Oh I see. Indeed, Dr Watson, don't you look dashing!"

John smiled serenely at her, and squeezed my fingers.

Then suddenly Lestrade seemed to fit everything together. "Oh!" he cried.

"What?" asked John in alarm.

I pulled a panicked face at Lestrade- he was one of the few who knew about my plans tonight, with Mrs Hudson and Mycroft.

"Oh! I mean, _oh, I think I have a lead! _Oh." He finished lamely.

John looked at him strangely. "Okay."

At that point Sally seemed to have the same 'startling revelation' that Lestrade did. "Oooh!" she gasped.

"What?" I said darkly.

"Um, nothing," Sally said hastily. "Just, sir, you mean the thing you were talking about earlier?"

"What were you talking about _earlier_, Lestrade?" I all but growled.

"N-nothing," Lestrade said, hiding his grin behind a feigned cough.

"You know, DI Dimmock?" Sally nudged Dimmock, giggling. "That thing sir was telling us about earlier?"

Dimmock also had a light bulb moment. "Oh! Oh yes."

All three were staring at us, grinning like fools. Damn them! John would suspect something. Damn Lestrade, for telling half his department!

"Come on, John. Let's leave the imbeciles to follow their..._lead."_

John seemed rather confused, but complied.

We were just ducking under the tape once more, to hail a cab, when I heard my name being called.

"Freak! Sherlock!" it was Sally, calling me over.

"I'll go get that cab," John muttered, and I nodded as he walked down the street.

Sally jogged up to me.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"Just, well, you know, good luck, and all," she said. I think she was trying to smile.

"Oh. Well, thank you, I suppose," I said uncomfortably. "I can't believe Lestrade told you."

Sally grinned. "That man can't keep a secret to save his life."

I nodded. "Right."

"Anyway! I was going to say, I, uh, know a guy- he's my brother's, um, boyfriend, and he does the lighting on Embankment and all that. You know, for Parliament Square, and I think he can also access the London Eye. And Tower Bridge."

I had no idea what she was trying to say.

"What I mean is, well, I can phone in... Just- just be on the Waterloo Bridge with John at eight pm. Can you do that?"

I understood what she was trying to say. It was not _impossible_ that Sally Donovan wished me a lifetime of happiness with the man I loved, just highly _improbable_, and once you'd eliminated the impossible...

"I...yes, I can do that. Thanks. Thank you," I muttered.

She rolled her eyes. "Get going, Freak. Romeo awaits you."

I glanced over my shoulder and saw John waiting with a cab at the corner of the street.

"Right," I muttered, and the jelly feeling in my gut increased tenfold.

I hurried over to the new cab. "What did she want?" John asked.

I hesitated. "Berating me about the case. She wanted me to look it over now."

John looked apologetic. "Do you want to go investigate it now? I don't mind."

I shook my head. "Of course not! This is our evening. Even if it has been set back by three corpses on meat hooks."

John pulled a grimace at the mental picture. "Alright, you romantic fool. Where do you want to go instead?"

"Wherever you like," I said acquiescently. I saw our taxi driver roll his eyes with impatience. So did John.

"Angelo's? He's always hospitable, even without a reservation," John suggested.

I smiled at him. "Now who's being a romantic fool?"

John blushed. We settled back into the cab for the fifteen minute drive to Angelo's.

"You were right," I told John, peering out to the quickly darkening sky.

"Blimey," I heard John say, "That's a first. To what do I owe the honour of being right, for once?"

"About Dimmock. I never noticed before," I said absently, turning back to John to smirk at him.

"Oh, well, yeah. He should know better. I'll have to find a way to signify you as mine more permanently."

My gut dropped. _All in good time, John. All in good time._

We arrived outside of Angelo's, dismayed to see it almost full. Nonetheless we entered, and our favourite patron hurried over to us to enthusiastically shake our hands.

"Sherlock! Dr Watson! How fantastic to see you both!" Angelo cried happily. "Come come! I will always have room for my best boys!"

We were hurried to the back of the building, and seated at a table for two.

"I'll get a candle- more romantic," Angelo said with wink, and John hid his embarrassed smile.

We were left in relative privacy, apart from the unconcerned couples around us. I reached out and took John's hand.

"I was half expecting a '_I'm not his date!'_" I teased.

John raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I miss those days when people assumed we were shagging, when we weren't. And I especially love how you never attempted to dispel those rumours."

I grinned. "I suppose I was foreseeing the moment when I wouldn't have to."

"Sure you did," John muttered.

Angelo returned with the candle and two menus, and this time, I actually had a look at what food was on offer.

"What do you suggest?" I asked.

"What about penne arrabiata? I imagine you like spicy things?" John asked.

"Tomatoes, John," I reminded him.

"Oh yes."

I loved how normal it was- just like before we got together, but better, because I could lace my fingers with John's and rub my shoe against his ankle, just to make him red.

Billy came over to take our order. John was having some sort of lamb (he smacked me round the head when I started making little "Baa! Baa! Please Dr Watson! Don't eat me! Baa!" noises) and I ordered soup. John then also ordered the house wine.

"You _are _trying to intoxicate me!" I announced, pointing an accusatory finger at John. "Well, I'm telling you now, John Watson! It won't work!"

John giggled. "Oh, come on now Sherlock! Why would I do that?"

"To hear me lisp!" I cried.

A few of the couples' heads turned to look at us incredulously (were there really two gay men arguing over a lisp?), but I ignored them.

"Never, John, do you hear me? I don't, nor will I ever again, lisp! Mother paid hundreds of pounds for speech therapy, and I won't let it go to waste!" I said defiantly.

John just beamed. I could tell he was hatching a plan. He gave me a very smug smile as Billy poured us two glasses of wine, and John sipped his through amused lips.

"You conniving little kitten," I cursed, as I picked up my glass and drank.

"Kitten?" asked John, interestedly. "That's a new one."

A piano started playing from somewhere, and the lights dimmed to what was probably presumed _romantic. _I caught sight of Angelo spying on us, and he gave me the thumbs up. I smiled back, hoping he wouldn't crack open his ancient accordion and start singing.

John saw me smiling. "What?"

"Just Angelo, being a helpless teenage girl," I muttered.

We sat and talked whilst we waited for our food. The best thing about John was that I could talk to him about anything, and I would always find his answers interesting and riveting. I could never grow bored. He started asking me about the people around us. This woman had fourteen siblings, and played the flute. That man has a twin, and deals drugs. That woman is actually a man, John, so stop staring at her boobs- they're not real. Those two are on their first date. Those other two are on their fifth. That woman is pregnant, so she really shouldn't be drinking.

John found it fascinating, and we had a good giggle about the transvestite, and John started making deductions of his own.

"He works in a bank," John whispered about the man in the opposite corner.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"He just took out an RBS pen to write in his diary. His diary is from RBS. His wallet, which he used to pay with, is from RBS. He has wet sand on the bottom part of the sole of his shoe, which is the sand they use in construction sites. And there is a construction site outside the RBS building in Bishopsgate. I saw it when I passed it the other day to get to Brick Lane."

I was entranced. "I love you," I said.

John glanced to me, away from the banker, and smiled fleetingly. "I love you too, you sentimental fool."

He kissed me, but pulled away as Angelo approached with our food.

"Enjoy!" he declared, like it was a command, and winked at me.

I started eating my soup, as I watched John cut at his meat.

"Baa!" I teased him, and received another clout up the ear.

"Shut it! I like lamb. Doesn't mean I want to think about them," John told me. I just grinned.

"Nice soup?" he asked.

"Very. Angelo has surpassed himself in his soup making skills. Would you like to try some?" I offered.

"Yes please," John said, but instead grabbed the back of my head and yanked me across the table to smash our mouths together.

"Mmf!" was all I could say as I felt John's tongue invade my mouth and thoroughly explore every crevice. Heat started crawling up my neck, as I felt the eyes of the other customers fall on us.

When he finally let go, I sank back into my chair, slightly out of breath. "Good?"

"Very nice," John agreed, and continued to eat his lamb.

"See?" I heard a woman behind me say to her partner. "Why can't we be more like them?"

"Because you're eating garlic mushrooms, darling, that's why," I heard her boyfriend reply.

John snorted, and continued eating.

At some point John had toed off one of his shoes, and his foot was so far up my leg, I kept choking, and having to drink more wine, which was only serving to make me feel slightly less inhibited, which could only mean one thing.

"John! Get your toeth off me!" I snapped, after having jumped about a mile when his toes flexed round my knee.

"My what?" John chuckled.

"Your toes!" I corrected myself. "Please, John. I'm trying not to thlosh thoup everywhere. Damn it!"

John actually started sniggering to himself. "That is so cute, Sherlock! You must have been bloody adorable as a child."

I made a sulky noise, and some sort of petulant denial.

Soon, the food was finished, and the wine was almost finished, and John was still teasing me with his feet.

"Can I tempt you with dessert?" asked Angelo, when our table had been cleared.

I eyed John, thinking that temptation had been one of my weaknesses that evening.

"Angelo, you are trying to feed me up for Christmas!" John complained. "I couldn't possibly eat another bite!"

"How about something to share?" Angelo offered.

"Oh, alright!" John said amicably, laughing when Angelo beamed.

Checking my watch, I saw that it was 7:15. That gave us plenty of time to get to the Waterloo Bridge. I wondered what Sally had in store for us.

"You can't be tired?" asked John, having seen my movement. "Because I plan on staying up half the night," he added suggestively.

I swallowed, catching the eye of the woman a few tables along, who was smirking at me.

"No, not tired at all!" I said.

"Excellent," was his only reply, before he leant over and gently kissed me, not as aggressively as when he had "tried" my soup. I found a hand was curling into his hair, and pulling him closer, as my breath hitched and my eyes closed, luxuriating in his touch.

It wasn't until I felt the necessity of oxygen that we broke away. I heard John make a tiny impatient noise.

"You need to breathe!" I laughed.

"Oh breathing, breathing's boring!" he said in a lofty voice.

"I do not sound like that!" I declared.

"You do. I, of all people, should know. I listen to you the most," John said. "All public school and _crise de coeur, let's listen to Mumford and Sons, I can't function, I have malaise_."

"Mumford and sons?" I asked, screwing up my face, "John, I don't have time for popular music."

John laughed and shook his head. "That's not my point. Where did you go? Eton? Harrow?"

My face must have betrayed me, because John exclaimed "Aha! Hogwarts it was! Was it not fun?"

I grimaced. "I wish I hadn't taught you how to read faces. You're using it against me."

"The apprentice has become the master!" John murmured. "No, I'm serious! Was it not fun? Not all jolly hockey sticks and secret midnight feasts in the dorm rooms?"

I looked at John in incredulity. "Uh, _no. _I didn't enjoy school. Everyone was an idiot."

John rolled his eyes. "Well, you really would have hated my school. I went to the local comprehensive. Full of smackheads and unmotivated housewives in the making."

I smiled, imagining John in a school uniform, and made a mental note to ask Mrs Watson next time I saw her.

"No! That's your plan-making face! No way! No school photos! Not happening!" John said immediately. He really was getting good at reading expressions.

"Oh John, I'm sure they're fine. Anyway, I'm convinced your mother would love to crack out the old family albums," I said calmly, silently undressing John and putting him in a white shirt and grey blazer and shorts.

"I'm sure, especially after last time you saw each other," John said sardonically, and we both winced at the memory.

"I heard Harrow had the best school dinners," John said, changing the subject back to me.

I made a dismissive noise. "I didn't eat much. I didn't do much at all really. They liked Mycroft- he was the conscientious one. They didn't like me."

John smiled cheekily. "I can't imagine why."

At that point Angelo's surprise dessert-for-two arrived. Chocolate fondue with an assortment of fruit and marshmallows and chocolate truffles. I glanced down at my stomach- thank god I'd chosen to wear my looser trousers.

"Oh my god," John moaned. "I'm going to be stuffed. Sherlock, you're having at least half of this!"

I groaned in agreement, and picked up one of the spear-like forky things that you use to impale the dipping condiments.

"How many people do you think I could kill with this, before somebody stopped me?" I asked, examining the two-pronged, pointy end.

"For god's sake, Sherlock! Save the serial killing for later, will you?" John asked absently, stabbing a strawberry quarter and dunking it into the chocolate. I eyed it with disdain, and then alarm, when John held it up to me.

"Open!" he instructed. I let my mouth fall open, and he placed the strawberry on my tongue so I could pull it off.

"It'sh vewwy nishe, Jom," I said around the stick-fork. He giggled and retracted the metal rod. "Now, if you would mind not trying to feed me until I burst, I suggest that you let me..._feed you too!"_

And I bayoneted a slice of apple, coated it in chocolate, and forced it towards John's mouth, holding his jaw open with my other hand.

"Ahh!" he cried, but allowed the apple into his mouth. "This means war, Sherlock!"

I hastily speared a strawberry, an apple slice, a grape and a marshmallow onto my stick, dipped it into the chocolate and forced it between my lover's lips at the same time that he shoved three truffles and two grapes into my mouth using just his fingers.

"Oomf!" we both made noises of protestation as we were forced to eat.

"Not fair! The rules state that that the stick thing must be used to apply food into the opponent's mouth!" I told him after I had swallowed.

"What _rules_?" he asked, before taking advantage of my open mouth to shove more fruit into it, followed by a spoonful of chocolate sauce.

"Jmmmn!" I tried to say his name without opening my lips, almost choking on the assortment of fruit.

John was laughing loudly, and we definitely had the attention of all the tables nearby.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" I asked. "Is _this _funny?"

I grabbed a marshmallow, put the chocolate on the bottom, and stuck it on John's nose. The sauce served as glue, and the marshmallow was adhered to the turned up part of his nose.

John's laughter died immediately. There were a few "Ooh"s from the people in neighbouring tables, as if this were a football match.

He carefully plucked the marshmallow off of his nose, his face stoic, before he glanced at me, and stuck out his tongue upwards.

My jaw dropped as John Watson managed to lick the top of his nose clean with his tongue. His absurdly long and _wriggly _tongue. The temperature of the room must have increased by about five degrees, as suddenly I had broken out in a sweat, as my eyes were glued to John's tongue, as he licked off the chocolate I had put there.

My mind when instantly to the gutter.

"Heh," I made some sort of weak noise as John smirked at me, retracting his tongue, and giving it a little wiggle in my direction flirtatiously.

Of course, I had completely forgotten about our war, and was barely able to protect myself as John shoved the marshmallow that had been sitting on his nose not a moment before into my mouth.

"Ha ha!" he cried triumphantly. "I think I win."

I swallowed, and said to him "Has your tongue always been that...long?"

John chuckled, and took my hand to kiss it. "Yes. It was a great party trick when I was young."

I stuck out my own tongue, but was dismayed to see that it could barely reach past my upper lip.

"I bet it made you popular with the ladies," I muttered grumpily.

John laughed, and leant forward to mutter in my ear, "And with the men."

My brain short-circuited at the implications of that sentence, which must have shown, because John found my expression highly amusing, for his giggled in my ear, before pulling my face round to kiss me again. He tasted of chocolate and sweetness, so I latched on and kissed him deeply.

Afterwards, I admitted defeat, and John took great pride in having won a competition against me. We finished the fondue, and Angelo cleared away our table, wishing us a good night. Suddenly I felt like I needed the support, as the gravity of what I was about to do next smashed into me like a freight train.

John held my hand as we exited the restaurant, getting many grins and wolf whistles as we passed. Clearly our little dessert-for-two display had taken primary entertainment source for the evening for other customers.

"Hang on," John said, as we stepped into the cold outside. It was now 7:45. I had fifteen minutes to get John onto that bridge. "You have some chocolate on your face."

He reached up to wipe at my chin, and I felt my lip get pulled down. His eyes burned into mine as he looked up at me, and I felt a tingling run up my spine. His hand travelled from my chin to my jaw, and he splayed his fingers either side of my ear, catching hold of the hair there. I leant into his touch, and closed my eyes, sighing contentedly.

I felt the press of his lips as he reached up on his toes, and I wrapped my arms around his waist to pull him up further.

"Too...bloody...tall," John grumbled, and I laughed into our kiss, but ducked down so he didn't have to strain. I cracked an eyelid open, and saw several people had gathered around the window that John and I usually sat at when waiting for criminals, staring at us shamelessly.

"Come on," I murmured to John. "Let's go for a walk."

He grasped my hand tightly, and we set off. The sky was a dark blue, highlighted by all the light pollution- no chance of any stars tonight. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, and hastily checked it. It was from Mycroft.

_Have collaborated with Sally Donovan. Proceed to Waterloo Bridge now. MH_

"Who's that?" John asked, as I shoved my phone back into my pocket.

"Mycroft," I said, working some disdain into my tone. I wondered what he had done to Waterloo Bridge, just for me?

I walked us up towards the Strand, and we strolled past the shops hand in hand, in silence. My stomach was churning, and I was going clammy.

"Are you alright?" John asked me, as we walked along. "You're very quiet."

I tried to give my best reassuring look, but I think it just came out as slightly ill looking. "I'm fine John. Absolutely fine."

As we turned onto Lancaster Place, I saw what Mycroft had done. For me. _Must remember to send him an extra large gateau when I get home, from that bakery he likes._

"What on earth?" John muttered. "Pedestrians only?" He read the sign blocking the road. Apparently emergency road works had to be done on the bridge.

"Looks like it," I mumbled, trying to take deep breaths as we proceeded. "How annoying for the cabbies. Let's go."

Slightly confused as to why we were crossing the river, John followed me without complaint. From Waterloo Bridge, we would get a fantastic view of the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, the Canary Wharf skyline, Tower Bridge, Embankment, even little things like the National Theatre. It would be even better without the traffic rushing past us. I fully understood what Sally and Mycroft had done for me.

A glance up at Big Ben told me it was 7:57. My nerves were running around like mice in a testing laboratory. My hands were shaking, and I couldn't trust myself to speak, let alone walk.

We continued to the middle of the bridge, where tourists and Londoners alike were passing by.

"Just- just wait here," I said to John, hold him back by his hand. "Let's just- just stay here for a while."

"Sherlock?" John said, peering at me anxiously. "Are you sure you're okay? You're very pale."

"Am I?" I squeaked. My voice sounded very much unlike my own. It was high pitched and cracking.

"Do you feel sick?" John asked, pressing a hand to my forehead.

"N-no," I mumbled, the shakes from my hands spreading throughout my body. The food I had eaten earlier felt like it was going to make a reappearance. I forced myself to take a deep breath.

"No, Sherlock, I don't think you are. You look terrible." John took hold of my hands and noticed they were trembling in his.

_Calm! _I told myself. I had to calm down! I had to think of John, and think of all the time I had spent thinking about this moment, and how much I wanted it, how much I needed it. How much I needed John.

A thousand memories of John and I, at home, chasing criminals, holding hands, teasing Anderson, having dinner, having sex, shopping, fighting, solving mysteries and so much more flooded my mind, and suddenly I was very very calm.

"I assure you, John," I said, steadily, "I am perfectly alright. You're here. Why shouldn't I be?"

We gazed at each other for a moment, John not quite convinced, and myself feeling the adrenaline seep through me as I heard Big Ben chime for eight o'clock.

There was a massive "Ooh!" from the people around us like at a firework display, as I saw out of my peripheral vision the whole area light up suddenly.

"Oh my," John muttered, breaking our gaze, to lean over the railings, and stare at London, suddenly illuminated by Sally's brother's boyfriend's work.

The London Eye, usually lit up in the evenings, was brighter than usual, with a myriad of colours splaying over it, making it stand out like a giant star, reflected off of the Thames and high in the sky. The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben's tower had what seemed hundreds of spotlights dancing over it, throwing shadows into the light, and contrasting with the black sky. The Thames itself seemed to glitter and shine, as if it were not brown and murky and harvesting many corpses, with Tower Bridge flashing like a gateway to heaven above it.

"I've never seen it lit up like this," John murmured, as I stood next to him to grasp his fingers. Everyone on the bridge had stopped to admire London. I drank in John's expression as he gaped at his surroundings. There were fairy lights covering the whole of Waterloo Bridge, which was a testament to Mycroft's power, which suddenly sprung up, and there was a fresh wave of "Aah"s from the people around us.

John glanced down at the bridge, which was alight with colour under our feet, and turned to me, grinning. "Isn't this amazing?"

I nodded, and took both of his hands, and pulled him away from the edge.

"John," I whispered. "John."

His smile fell, but he didn't look away from me. The people around us stood back, and fell silent. It was as if they knew what I was about to do.

"Sherlock?" John whispered back.

Still holding onto his hands, I very slowly and tentatively dropped down on one knee.

The crowd around us gasped and started to giggle. I heard an "Aaw" from somewhere, but my eyes were trained on John, and I licked my lips nervously.

John's mouth fell open, and his eyes widened- he looked utterly shocked. "Oh my god," he whispered. "Oh my god."

Suddenly it wasn't just my own hands that were trembling.

"John Watson," I began, my throat feeling dry.

"Oh my god," John said softly again.

"I love you more than I could ever say." My voice sounded like I was on a very bumpy car journey. I gripped John's hands tighter, and felt the pressure being reciprocated. Staring into those beautiful, beautiful eyes, I saw them go watery, and a tear fell down his cheek.

"Would you-" My throat closed, and I swallowed thickly, blinking desperately. "Would you do me the honour..."

John started to breathe shakily through his mouth, and more tears started falling.

"...of becoming my husband."

"Oh my god," John gasped through his tears. "Oh my god."

I bit my lip, and felt my own hot tears splashing down my face.

The crowd around us were cheering and clapping encouragingly.

"Say yes!" I heard a woman cry.

"Say yes, goddamit John!" someone else yelled.

"Yes! Yes!" they started chanting, and John giggled, sniffing, as I looked up at him, trying to portray my devotion and adoration through one look.

"Fucking faggots!" a man shouted.

"Fuck off!" someone else bellowed back.

"Piss off you bastard!" a woman joined in, "Gay fucking pride!"And then suddenly we were forgotten about as the crowd erupted into chaos.

John staggered down onto his own knees.

"John," I pleaded, grasping his hands tightly. "Please." There was a pause as we just stared into each other's eyes.

"Yes," he shuddered out. "Always, yes."

I inhaled heavily as I took in what he had said, and allowed myself to break down in tears as John gripped my face in his hands and kissed me hard.

I felt our tears mingling as we wrapped our arms around each other, on the floor of Waterloo Bridge, overlooking our home.

"Oh look! He said yes!" I heard a girl squeal happily amongst the anarchy that was taking place in the surrounding crowd. There were a few more "Aaw"s, and a few men shouting "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!" but we took no notice of them.

"I love you," John said into my ear. "So much."

"I love you too," I whispered back, as we hugged tightly.

"This explains it all. The fancy restaurant planned, the strange walk up to the bridge. How did you know it would be lit up like this?" John asked me, breaking away to wipe his face.

I was unsure how to respond. "Sally, when she called me back, told me she would have it done for me. And Mycroft just now texted me to tell me the bridge would be sorted. And I purposefully solved a case for Mr Singh, which you worked out."

"Well, I'm sorry about the triple murder messing with your plans," John said with a smile, and I snorted. "This has been the best night of my life."

I looked up at him. "Really? Best ever?"

"Really. How many people would light up London for me, and take me for a perfect dinner, and propose all in one night?" he replied, kissing me again.

"So you're going to marry me?" I asked stroking his face. "You haven't changed your mind after two minutes?"

John laughed, still sniffing. "Never. Forever, right?"

"Forever," I agreed.

We managed to get home soon after, but we walked, rather than taking a cab.

Words did not come easily to me to describe the kind of euphoria I felt as I realised soon I would be John's husband. I told him I wanted to go pick out rings together, and he agreed. He also mentioned that _I _would have to be the one to tell his mother about the wedding, which made me pale slightly, but my mood could not be dampened as we turned onto Baker Street.

"That is why Lestrade and Sally and Dimmock were all acting strangely," John said abruptly, as we approached the flat. "They realised what you were doing tonight."

"I don't know why Lestrade told everyone- he wasn't supposed to," I grumbled, opening the door.

"Who else knew?" John demanded, as we entered the hallway.

"Mycroft and Mrs H-"

I was cut off by a shrill shriek as Mrs Hudson herself appeared at her flat door. "Oh Sherlock!" she cried. "He said _yes_!"

I was bombarded by her hug and her squeals. "Oh, _boys! _I'm so happy for you!"

It seemed compulsory that we give her a (cleaner) blow by blow account of the evening. John told her all about the city lights and the punch up in the crowd around us, and the triple murder at the restaurant. I told her all about Mycroft closing the bridge for cars, and Sally organising the lights. Mrs Hudson then started going on about dates and venues and themes and bands and food and first dance songs, until I noticed John glancing at me.

"Mrs Hudson, I think John is very tired. We should really go to bed now- it's been a long evening," I cut off her monologue, and she acquiesced.

I closed our flat door behind us with a sigh, and looked around for John. He was leaning against the mantel piece with the skull in his hands, deep in thought.

"What are you thinking?" I asked him.

"Hmm? Oh, I was just asking the skull how best to thank you for such a wonderful evening," John said absently.

I flushed. "I- I can think of a couple of ways."

"Oh yes?" John asked, looking at me through his eyelashes. "Because right now we've agreed, the skull and myself, that I'm going to make long hard love to you all night, so that you can't walk in the morning."

I felt the breath leave me and I looked longingly at John. "Is that a challenge?" I tried to be seductive. I think I came out pathetic and needy.

John pushed himself off the mantel, placing the skull down, and came over to me forcing my jacket off of my shoulders. He kissed my jaw, muttering "Always."


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, this is a personal favourite of mine, guys. I wrote this ZONKS ago. I can't even remember. It's just a little something that I thought might tag on nicely from the proposal. And because I managed to make myself giggle. I know. Pathetic.**

**NB: I think this goes without saying, that this is COMPLETELY unrelated to "Recollections". **

I stumbled down the stairs to the living room, groaning as I stretched, and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. All this waking up in the morning lark was making me drowsy and incoherent for the former part of the day. If it weren't for John, I'd still be running on caffeine and nicotine for as long as I could before I crashed on the nearest available surface. But of course, waking up next to John every morning was better than all the caffeine and nicotine the world had to offer.

I dragged my feet along the floor as I headed through the living room to the kitchen (it was my turn to make tea), passing Mother on the sofa, and reaching for the kettle.

Wait. What?

"What the hell?" I exclaimed, veering round in shock as I saw my mother flicking through the British Medical Journal, legs crossed, reading glasses perched on her nose.

"Oh, Sherlock, darling. You're awake," she said primly, glancing up at me before turning a page. I was suddenly very much aware of the fact I was standing, half asleep, in my underwear, in front of my mother. And my boyfriend, _fiancé _I corrected myself, was just upstairs. "Get dressed, darling, it's unbecoming to be half naked in front of your mother."

I lurched for my dressing gown, which was draped across my armchair, and hastily pulled it on. "What are you doing here, Mother?" I asked her, trying not to sound too hoarse or to give away too many clues for her to deduce at.

"Mycroft called," she said absently, pulling out a red pen from her handbag, and crossing something out in the magazine.

I groaned in frustration. "Of course he did."

"Don't get all shirty with me," she said defensively, writing in the correction. "I'm not the one who went full steam ahead and decided to get engaged without their mother's consent."

I felt something icy land in my gut. "I don't need consent in order to get married, Mother," I said stonily.

"Of course you don't dear," she said loftily, closing the magazine and looking up at me, properly. "But a little warning would have been nice."

Her piercing eyes, like Mycroft's, penetrated me, and I felt uneasy. "Warning?"

"Yes," she said, giving me a look as if to say _are-you-stupid? _"The summer house won't be ready until April, and then I have to call Aunt Cassy from Australia, and the Cousins from Canada, and who knows how many people John will want getting leave from their Tours. Mycroft is going spare arranging it all. Under my request, of course." She added this in a rather smug tone.

I fumbled for a moment, trying to take this all in, and choking slightly on my own words.

"Mother," I stuttered, "I've barely got the proverbial ring on John's finger! It's been, what? A week? You can't seriously be making plans already?"

Mother sighed. "Darling, do you know how much preparation a wedding takes? And you're not having some minor registrar office marriage. I refuse. I want to use the summer house- it has fantastic peonies in the summer months. Trust me, I know. It's going to be fabulous."

I just gaped. Maybe I was still dreaming. John and I really shouldn't have had that wine last night.

It was then that I heard footsteps from the stairs.

"Sherlock? Who's there? I heard voices." John appeared, rubbing his face, and blinking in the morning light. He had, thankfully, put on some pyjamas. "Oh. Hello Mrs Holmes."

He stopped short in the doorway.

"Good morning John," Mother said pleasantly. "Sherlock and I were just discussing venues. I hope you don't mind."

John blinked. "Venues? For what?"

I winced as Mother said "Your wedding, of course. I'm going to arrange with Peter if he can pull together a string quartet. You remember Peter, Sherlock?"

"Yes, Mother," I muttered, as John came over, looking slightly confused.

"Peter was Sherlock's violin teacher," Mother continued to John, grinning gleefully, and leaning forward in her seat. "The patience of a monk, that one. Needless to say he is considered a saint in our household."

John smiled back, and winked at me as Mother stood and started pulling thinks out of her handbag. "I have the number of the tailor I want you to go to," she was saying, as she thrust a business card in my direction, "and also a bakery, on Mycroft's orders. Apparently they do some sort of crème anglaise that he wants an excuse to eat, because that's all he does, eat eat eat!"

John laughed silently, and took my hand.

"Mother," I interrupted, before she could start on a brochure about floristry, "John and I haven't planned anything yet. We were hoping to just keep it simple."

She turned to me, looking aghast. "Absolutely not! Have you seen the state of Mycroft? If I don't get to do this _now_, I'll never get the opportunity again! Of course, many opportunities have been carelessly shoved over the metaphorical waterfall," she sighed, eyeing our clasped hands. "If you don't even want a fancy wedding, what are the chances of you being willing to adopt?" She sounded so forlorn and upset, but I knew she was trying to manipulate us.

John stiffened at her words. "Mrs Holmes, this is all very new to us. We're just trying to get to grips with what's happened."

Mother trained her eyes on John again. "Yes I suppose being in a relationship with my son can be a little of a whirlwind for the regular mind."

I took affront to my mother referring to John as a "regular mind", but jumped in before anything more could be said.

"Mother, I appreciate you offering us the use of the summer house, and Mycroft's patisserie, but we're not quite sure how we want things to be laid out yet. When we are, I'll be sure to call you, and you can plan away."

She looked rather offended for a moment, before collecting herself and letting her all-seeing gaze rake over us.

"Been eating well, Sherlock?" she asked.

I took a calming breath. "Yes Mother. Why do you ask?"

"I do hope John is feeding you properly," she let her eyes sweep John.

"I assure you, Mrs Holmes, I always take good care of him," John said.

"Good," she said lightly, and I could tell she was hatching a plan. "I just wanted to raise another point."

"What point is that, Mother?" I asked, almost exasperatedly.

"Just a little tradition we keep in the family," she continued, bending over to put her leaflets and business cards back into her handbag.

"What is it?" I asked apprehensively.

"You're not allowed to have sex until the wedding night," she deadpanned, turning round and straightening up to look at me seriously.

John choked, and I blushed.

"Mother!" I complained. "Is this really appropriate? Really?"

Mother rolled her eyes. "Oh don't try to hide anything! Look at the pair of you!"

I tried not to look at John, because I'd see what evidence my mother was collecting that would prove to her what we had done last night.

John was still coughing, going beetroot red.

"My son can barely walk straight, John!" she admonished, and I covered my face with my hands. "I think it would be so much more romantic if you waited."

John rubbed the back of his neck. "Tea anyone?" he asked.

"No thank you," Mother declined, and I saw her smirking to herself as John all but ran into the sanctuary of the kitchen. "Please, Sherlock? Just this one thing left to tradition. Everything else has gone to hell- first off, it's _you _getting married. Second of all, you're marrying a _man," _she whispered this as if it were a rude word, and I rolled my eyes. "And thirdly, you've already been sleeping with him for months! I promise you, you won't hate me for it, if you wait."

"Mother, if we use the summer house, like you want, that's in another six months!" I protested.

"And?" she asked. "Sherlock, you've been without a sexual partner for over two decades before J-"

"Mother! This is not a conversation I want to be having with you!" I hissed.

"Why not?" she asked incredulously.

"Because you're my mother!" I almost wailed.

She sniffed, and huffed her way over to the door. "I bet John talks with his mother about his sexual developments," she muttered, as I walked her down the stairs.

"I bet you he doesn't," I replied, thinking about John's mother, and shivering.

Mrs Hudson chose that moment to come out of her flat to collect the post.

"Mrs Holmes!" she cried, when she saw us. "Good morning!"

"Good morning Mrs Hudson," Mother said cheerily. "I've been visiting my son to talk about his engagement."

"Isn't it fantastic?" Mrs Hudson beamed at me.

"I was trying to persuade him to abstain from any sexual contact with John until the marriage. He seems a little reluctant," Mother spoke as if she were discussing the thick fog outside. I felt myself colouring.

"Oh how romantic," Mrs Hudson said, as I looked around for the shovel I could use to dig myself a hole to crawl into. "But you'll never get them to do it. They go at it almost every night!"

"Goodness, Sherlock! Do you have no consideration for your neighbours?" my Mother reprimanded, frowning at me.

I muttered an apology, burning bright red, as I hurried my mother outside, agreeing to call her sometime this week, and then slamming the door.

Mrs Hudson was giggling at me, as I stalked upstairs.

John, lovely, beautiful, wonderful John, had a mug of tea waiting for me, extra sweet after the ordeal with my mother.

"So," he muttered, his eyes twinkling. "That was an interesting way to start the day."

I groaned, and flopped down into my chair. "What a nightmare."

John laughed, and came to kneel in between my knees. "At least your mother knows now."

"She probably knew before I did," I grumbled. "Probably knew before I was born."

"All that is left is my own family," John said, and we both grimaced. "And you promised you would do that yourself."

I cringed. "I don't think it's a one man job, John. Not with _your _parents."

"We can worry about that later," John muttered, trailing his hands up my thighs. "All I'm worried about now is the fact that we're supposed to save it until the wedding night."

I shuddered under his touch, and pulled him up to my height, so he was leaning over me. "Stuff that. I can't last _six months_."

He chuckled, as I kissed him, feeling slight stubble on his chin. He moaned slightly and crawled onto my lap, lodging his knees either side of my hips, and pushing me backwards on the chair.

"Sherlock, I forgot my—Oh for God's sake!"

I shoved John roughly off of me and he landed on the floor with an "oof!" as I turned in my seat to see my mother standing in the doorway.

"Mother!" I complained. "What is it?"

She smirked at us, and indicated an umbrella leaning against the sofa. "Just this. I'll be going now."

"Yes I think that's for the best!" I snapped, helping John up, as he rubbed the shoulder he had landed on.

She shook her head at us, and finally, _finally _left.

"She's like a dark spirit," I whispered ominously. "When you think she's gone...BAM! She's back again!"

John giggled, and pulled me over to the sofa, pushing me flat on my back and laying on me. Six months be damned.


End file.
